Go to Sleep, Sam
by Lia76
Summary: Even though the trickster has returned Dean, Sam is still headed for rock bottom, knowing he's no closer to saving his brother from the deal that will come due in a few months and take Dean away forever. Follows the events of Season Three's Mystery Spot.
1. Chapter 1

**Go To Sleep, Sam**

_Let's all go back a bit in time, shall we? This short story immediately follows the events of season three's episode "Mystery Spot." _

Sam restlessly flipped onto his back, the course sheets that covered the lumpy queen mattress rubbing against his bare skin like sand paper. He knew it was a different bed, a different motel room, a different town. He knew that thirty two uneventful days, four of them Wednesdays, had passed since the trickster had finally released him from the "lesson" and returned Dean to him. Sam _knew_ all of that, but the crushing emotions still returned with a vengeance every night as soon as the lights went out. During the day he could busy himself with other things, pretend that everything was under control, but the night...the night allowed no distraction and his nightmares no mercy. Sometimes he felt so sick to his stomach that it hurt, sometimes blind with rage, and other times so depressed that he could cry his eyes out.

_When_ would it end? Sam knew that answer too. When Dean was safely released from his deal that his older brother had made with the crossroads demon in exchange for his life. Yes, Dean was still alive and always there to greet him each morning with a grunt or snarky comment. But as each day passed, it was a day closer to Dean's year being up. Closer to Dean's eternity in hell. Closer to Sam's being the last standing Winchester.

Frustrated, Sam sighed and glanced over at the small clock on the nightstand. The red digital numbers glared "2:34 AM." Insomnia was something else he faced night after night, either because he couldn't get his mind to shut off or he was afraid to fall asleep. Once again, the minutes felt like hours as the seemingly interminable night passed…by…so…very…slowly. Maybe he would feel better if he finally told Dean about those months that he had previously summed up to him as a "really weird dream." That it was about something much, much more frightening than clowns or midgets. But Sam had no intention of burdening his brother with any of that. No. As tough as all of this was for him, Sam knew that it had to be a million times worse for Dean. So he kept quiet, willing himself each and every day to keep it together.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean grumbled from his bed, his words thick with sleep, shattering the late night silence.

Sam's breath caught in his throat and his heart began to race. Unsure of how to respond, Sam remained silent.

"I know you're awake, dude," Dean said. "Just like I know that you've been awake every night for the past few weeks. What is your problem anyway?"

"I...I don't have a problem, Dean," Sam stuttered.

"You're right. You're not the one going to hell in a few months, so stop being such a little bitch and get it together. But I guess it doesn't really matter does it?" Dean continued. "You'll NEVER save me, you worthless piece of crap. Just like you'll never save yourself! I'll see you in hell!"

Sam shot up in bed, breathing hard, Dean's words still screaming in his ears. It had been a dream. Thank God it had just been a dream. Sam looked at the digital clock again to see that this time it read "3:35 AM." Sam finally gave up trying to sleep about a half an hour later and climbed out of bed to pull on his jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt.

After one last glance at Dean to make sure that he was still fast asleep, Sam quietly slipped out of the room. It was time for the second half of what had lately become his nighttime ritual. Sam paused next to the passenger side door of the Impala to pull out his set of car keys from his front jeans pocket. After unlocking it, he sat down inside before shutting the door. Sam next reached his hand under the seat to feel for the narrow paper bag. With a sigh, he pulled out the tequila bottle from inside. Sam sat there and slowly sipped, watching the intermittent raindrops slowly slide down the windshield. Alcohol. He was ashamed that night after night it always came to this. How weak he was. How pathetic he was. And worst of all, how useless he was to Dean. His dream had been right. The words ran through his mind over and over as he began to down the bottle. He just needed to get through the next few hours until daylight.

About an hour and a half later, Sam jumped when someone rapped on the window. He pulled his head up and looked over to see a blurry Dean standing there, looking a mix of concerned and pissed. Crap, Sam thought, as he looked back down at the almost empty bottle. He drank a lot more than he usually did. Sam opened the car door slowly, the bottle still clutched in his right hand. He stepped out, or rather _meant_ to step out. Instead he spilled onto the pavement, a mess of tangled limbs, the bottle smashing on impact.

"Whoops," Sam said before he began to giggle.

"Lucky it wasn't your head. Very graceful, twinkle toes," Dean said with a shake of his head as he hauled his brother up from the parking lot's slick, black surface. "What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the freakin' night? God, if you're going to be pathetic enough to drink alone, at least spring for the good stuff."

Sam began to laugh hysterically, the alcohol consumed preventing him from being much of a help in Dean's effort to get him back into the motel room.

"God," Dean said. "When did I become the responsible one?"

Sam fell onto his bed, his eyes immediately closing. Funny that now that he knew Dean was awake, it seemed easier to sleep. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Probably most definitely was the alcohol.

"Oh no you don't," Dean said as he pulled Sam up to a sitting position. "You tell me what the hell is going on."

"Nntng…," was all Sam could manage before he slumped back onto the mattress.

It was useless. Dean knew it was useless. Sam was down for the count. He maneuvered the rest of his brother's limp body onto the mattress and then laid down on his own.

A few hours later, when Dean woke to the sound of Sam throwing up in the bathroom and the toilet flushing, he was immediately reminded of what happened. He sat up just in time to watch Sam stumble back to his bed.

"You ready to spill something other than vomit?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam croaked after he glanced at his brother with bloodshot eyes, almost forgetting that Dean was there.

"Spill your _guts_. You know, tell me what's going on with you?" Dean said. "God, I want to avert my eyes, you look so bad."

Sam ignored him and climbed back into bed. He turned onto his side, away from his brother, and closed his eyes. This morning he felt much worse than he had in a _long_ time, and not just because he stupidly let himself get a humdinger of a hangover. The depression this morning was _suffocating_. Could he make up something that Dean would believe? Maybe. Was that the right thing to do? Probably not. Could he keep going on like this? Hopefully. Did he want to have a heart to heart to Dean about it? Absolutely _not_. Feeling the nausea slam into him once again, Sam slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back still to his brother, waiting for the room to stop spinning and his pounding headache to reside a bit.

"After I go to the bathroom to throw up again, I'm going to try and get some sleep. You're going to go away for a while and do…whatever. We are _not_ going to talk about this…ever…again," Sam declared in a low voice.

"Oh really?" Dean said as he strode over to his brother. "What the hell is your problem?"

"First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, _I'm_ not the one with the problem. You made sure of that, didn't you?" Sam said as he pushed himself up from the mattress.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked. "You need to talk to me _now_, Sammy, because I'm tired of waiting. You think I'm dumb? You think I haven't noticed how you've been lately since…since the trickster thing?"

"The trickster _thing_?" Sam yelled in disbelief, ignoring the increase in pounding in his head it caused. "You have _no_ idea!"

"Then tell me!" Dean implored. "That's all I ask!"

"Just…just leave me alone already, Dean! I'm fine! Everything's fine!" Sam insisted as he stood and pushed past his brother to make it to the bathroom just in time.

After he emptied the contents of his stomach _again_, Sam barely made it back to his bed without falling...the floor seeming to tilt this way and then that way underneath him. He was just so exhausted, mind _and_ body. If he could just get a little sleep...please God, just a little _dreamless _sleep. Maybe then he could think more clearly, think of something...anything that he had missed to save his brother.

"You really expect me to drop this?" Dean asked as he watched Sam pull himself up and onto the bed.

"Yes," Sam mumbled into his pillow.

"Would you if it was me?" Dean asked.

Sam knew that he _wouldn't_ let it drop with Dean if their positions were switched. But it wasn't Dean. _He _was the one who had to deal with this. Would have to deal with a lot more alone if he couldn't save Dean. He closed his eyes again, hoping Dean would finally get frustrated enough to go away. It worked.

"Whatever," Dean mumbled.

A moment later, Sam heard the bathroom door slam and the shower turn on. So Dean was mad at him. Fine. At least he wouldn't try to talk to him again for awhile. He soon felt himself drifting into sleep, knowing full well that he would likely again be seeing Dean in his dreams…over and over again…

"_You'll NEVER save me, you worthless piece of crap. Just like you'll never save yourself! Ill see you in hell!"_

Thanks for reading and reviewing. I may do more with this story AFTER my other stories are done. And just so you all know, I have started chapters for all my other stories so stay tuned. I promise not to start any new ones until I'm done!


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I lied. While procrastinating to finish chapters for my other stories, I finished this one. So read on and enjoy! Happy Thanksgiving!**

"Dean," Sam mumbled sleepily after he woke to the sound of drawers slamming closed. "What's going on?"

"I'm leaving," Dean answered matter of factly.

"_What_?" Sam asked in disbelief as he shot up in bed.

"It's time we go our separate ways. You're dead weight now," his brother explained as he zipped up his duffle bag. "I have enough to deal with without having to worry about you too. I'm not mom or…or your freakin' wife."

"Dean, stop," Sam said as he tried in vain to unwrap his legs from the tangle of bed sheets. "Please, let's talk about this first!"

"Oh.. okay. _Now_, you're ready to talk, huh? Fine. You have one last chance, Sammy," Dean said as he angrily crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Sam opened his mouth to speak when his bed sheet suddenly snaked around his neck and began to choke him. Unable to breathe, he could do nothing but gasp for air.

"Just as I thought. You have nothing to say for yourself," Dean said as he snatched up his bag and stormed toward the door. "Guess I'll see you in hell, little brother!"

Sam woke with a start, breathing hard and head pounding, pulling at his neck for the sheet that was not there. He breathed deeply before nausea once again clawed at his stomach. He rose shakily in the dark room, glad to see that he was alone. A quick glance at the digital clock told him it was 6PM. His body didn't feel anymore rested though, nightmare after nightmare plaguing the hours he slept. After stumbling into the bathroom, he emptied his stomach. Sam had almost forgotten how long a bad hangover can last. He'd have to be more careful next time. No more sloppy mistakes. Maybe then Dean would finally leave him alone.

Slowly Sam made his way back to his bed, but did not yet lie back down. He didn't want to sleep anymore, but didn't want to leave the motel room either. What Sam _did_ want was to just stop time for awhile and stay alone in this dark place so he could think in peace. But of course, he couldn't do that either. He didn't know where Dean had gone, but he was sure he would be back soon and probably bring a million questions with him. Sam wondered what his brother was doing, what he was thinking. Sam surprised himself when he next thought longingly of the tequila. The bottle of it was smashed, of course, but he did have a bottle of Jack buried in his bottom drawer. Maybe just one drink, before Dean got back, to tide him over for a while. To ease the migraine and nausea. To take the edge off before the inquisition. Sam opened the drawer and pushed the clothing around inside. No bottle. What the hell? His brow furrowed in confusion, wondering if he had moved the bottle or drank it without remembering, when movement in the far corner of the room caught his eye.

"Looking for this?" Dean asked as he turned on the light at the small table in the corner of the room where he was sitting. Sam's mouth dropped. Dean was also holding up his missing bottle of whiskey. "Took the liberty of searching your crap when you were passed out. One of the prerogatives a big brother has when his little brother starts acting…off. You really think _this_ is going to make everything it all better?"

"_Better_? I gave up on _better_ weeks ago. I'm only shooting for numb," Sam answered as his eyes unconsciously darted from Dean to the door. Now that Sam knew Dean was there, the motel room lost all appeal and he felt claustrophobic. Almost as if there was nothing else in the world except him and his brother.

"You going to make a run for it? You won't get far in your state, dude. Especially without shoes," Dean said as he stood, obviously guessing at what Sam was considering.

"I thought I told you to go away," Sam reminded him, trying to sound nonchalant when inside he was freaking out.

"You really think I would have left you alone messed up like that?" Dean asked.

"I'm okay," Sam insisted as he sat down on his bed so he could at least have his back to his brother.

"I was okay too, remember? After dad died for me?" Dean asked as he walked around Sam's bed to face him.

How could Sam forget? Dean was _anything_ but okay.

"The kind of okay that made me want to beat the crap out of everyone, yell until I had no voice left, or drive the Impala off of a freakin' cliff? You that kind of okay?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he looked away, not wanting to see the pain in his brother's eyes. He needed to be away from here…he needed to feel nothing…he needed…he needed Dean to leave him the hell alone, at least until the hangover passed. Sam was a fantastic liar, but the hangover made his emotions on his face too readable. Especially to his brother who knew him like the back of his hand.

"So, here's how its gonna be, Sammy. I will not accept any more lies or half truths. I will not accept the silent treatment. We are going to talk about this NOW, whether you feel like it or not," Dean yelled. "Because you didn't let up on me about dad and I'm not going to let up on you about this!"

"Okay, FINE!" Sam yelled back as he jumped up to stand inches from Dean's face. "You shouldn't have done it! Is that sharing and caring enough for you?!"

"Done what?" Dean asked.

"Made the deal for me!" Sam answered angrily.

"We already discussed this! Don't be mad at me-," Dean began before Sam cut him off.

"Not mad at you, Dean! Don't you get it?" Sam asked in frustration.

"Obviously not or we wouldn't be here yelling at each other right now!" Dean responded.

"You should have let me stay dead! No sense both of us ending up in hell!" Sam explained, his voice getting softer with each word. The adrenaline rush had jump started the nausea again and Sam ungracefully sat down on the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying for it to ebb. He could feel everything starting to fall apart...

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked before sitting down on the bed next to his brother.

"Is this really so difficult to understand? I _know_ I'm going to hell, Dean. No matter what I do, it's where I'm going to end up. They don't let people like me in heaven. And last time I checked, there ain't no other way to go but down. And now you're going there too? For what? For _nothing_. It's a waste and _I_ can't find a way to save you," Sam said.

There. Sam had done it. Finally told Dean flat out. Sam's confession didn't make him feel any better though. He continued to avoid Dean's gaze while willing himself not to get sick again.

"People like you?" Dean inquired.

I've been a freak since I've been six months old! Some demons call me 'the boy king', remember? Really, Dean. _You_ need to undo this deal before it's too late. Because if you go instead of me…there won't be anyone left to stop me…from what I'm destined to become. And if I'm going to feel anything close to what I did when you were dead from the trickster, I don't know if I'll care!"

"Once again, what are you talking about? What happened with the trickster _exactly_?" Dean asked as he shook his head. " And I don't even know where to _begin_ with how wrong all of what you said is."

"Oh, forget it! You won't do what needs to be done anyway. I mean why should you be any different? Everyone dies for me, right? Just give me my freakin' whiskey and go away already!" Sam said in frustration as he held his hand out for the bottle still clutched in Dean's hand.

Dean shook his head, but still held out the bottle. However, as Sam reached for it, Dean lobbed the bottle over his head, smashing it against the wall. Enraged, Sam knocked Dean down from the bed and they hit the floor hard.

"Go ahead! Hit me all you want if it will make you feel better," Dean said as he grunted under Sam's weight, his eyes fixed on his fist that was raised in the air over him. "Remember when you told me that? Remember when I punched you after you accused me of trying to replace Dad with Gordon? I've been there, man. It doesn't make it better. None of _any_ of this will make it better. I'm sorry, but it won't."

Tears sprung to Sam's eyes and he pushed off of his brother.

"You think you understand, but you don't," Sam said sorrowfully, unable to prevent the tears from falling.

Dean sat up and sighed.

"Maybe I don't understand everything. But I understand enough. You're a good person. Always have been and always will be. You don't need me around to save you anymore, Sammy. You're capable of saving yourself from any destiny put upon you by Azazeal or anyone else," Dean said.

Sam shook his head, wiping the tears away as they fell even though others quickly replaced them.

"You...don't...understand ANYTHING!" Sam yelled as he jumped up from the bed. "So just quit trying to pretend that you do! Quit...acting like it's okay that you're going to go to hell because of me. At least do that much!"

"I'm sorry that this hurts bad-," Dean began.

Sam could hear the pity in his voice.

"Screw you, Dean! Just SHUT UP and don't say any more! I don't want to hear it!" Sam yelled, enraged now.

He would _not_ let this go. He would not give Dean the forgiveness he seemed to want to hear from him.

"Are you done? Can I continue?" Dean asked.

Dean didn't even seem angry or upset. That made Sam even _more_ angry, if that was possible. Fuming, Sam let Dean talk.

"I'm glad that you finally told me what's going on in that head of yours. I don't want us to keep secrets from each other. And I want to keep me out of hell as much as you do, believe me, but not at the expense of your life. We can keep searching for a way out of this for me _while_ doing our job, but that's the best I can do. Can you accept that?" Dean finished.

Too angry to even speak, Sam decided to push past his brother for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and washed his face, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He didn't even look like himself...he didn't know who he thought he was fooling that he was okay, but he was doing a piss poor job. His face was flushed and his red rimmed eyes seemed to somehow flash anger and despair simultaneously. Sam put his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths. This wasn't how he wanted it to be. He didn't want his and Dean's possible last months together to be miserable. He wouldn't give up trying to save Dean, but it couldn't go on like this. He realized that much now. All he wanted was his brother to stay alive. After all that he had been through, was that really too much to ask? Funny thing was, he was sure Dean was thinking the same thing about him.

"Truce?" Dean asked when Sam stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

Sam nodded and made his way back to his bed and laid down.

"Good. Just...just go to sleep Sam, and we'll talk about this later," Dean decided. "I'm going to go get _me_ some dinner and _you_ some V8 juice, a half a dozen raw eggs, and a can of tuna. All vital parts of the patented Dean Winchester hangover cure."

"Dean?" Sam said as sleep began to overtake him. "Behind the ironing board."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Just...just look behind the ironing board," Sam mumbled, his eyes closed now.

Confused, Dean walked over to the closet, opened the door, and reached behind the folded up ironing board leaning against the wall. A moment later, his hand felt something. He reached around it and pulled it out. A bottle of gin. As he poured the liquid down the drain, Dean understood that they had finally made some progress today. He only hoped that if they couldn't save him, he would be one hundred percent sure that Sam would be okay by the time his deal came due.

**The End**


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